Friday Fictioneers. Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.
I’ll admit I had a hard time with this one — until I came up with a good idea, that is, and then I had a hard time keeping it to 100 words. I wrote, re-wrote, edited, cut and paste, moved things around to the point that the story I present to you doesn’t even resemble the one I had in my head. Even the feel of it is different — a little sinister, even, whereas my first take on Elle was a more pitiable character. Anyhow, let me know what you think. I’ll be reading the others in the next couple days, I promise.
The smell of smoke lingers in the air, but doesn’t bother Elle. The burnt stuffed animals on her shelf remind her why she’s here.
After the incident, they decorated the room with everything a little girl could dream of: pink walls, a four-poster bed, and bookshelves full of fairy tales.
Now, she dreams of the freedom promised by the men in asbestos-lined hazmat suits. Her freedom in exchange for her compliance.
“Burn!” they demand, and with nothing but the power of her mind, she sets the room ablaze.
Elle was never the princess in the tower; she was the dragon.